Intoxication
by sleepy-orange
Summary: She fills his every dream, his every memory, his every fantasy. She’s in his blood and under his skin. He can’t remember a time when she wasn’t a part of his life, because to him, he was never alive until he met her, all five foot three and 90 pounds of h


**Hello. I've been reading **_**way**_** too much WeeVer fanfiction lately, even though it's the middle of my exams, and poof! this just came out. I hope you enjoy it, for those who like WeeVer, and for those who don't, I hope you enjoy it at least for the writing. Adios :) - nadz**

She's intoxicating.

She fills his every dream, his every memory, his every fantasy. She's in his blood and under his skin. He can't remember a time when she wasn't a part of his life, because to him, he was never alive until he met her, all five foot three and 90 pounds of her. He can spend the entire day just thinking about her, and tonight, as he gazes at her sleeping form, he allows himself that little indulgence.

Her smile, that special sultry smile that she reserves just for him, reminds him of lazy Sundays spent under the covers, slowly kissing his way down her small body till he reached that spot that first makes her squeal, then pant and finally, beg him to take her right then and there.

She's the only one to have ever made him feel this way, giddy and lightheaded every time he saw her, smelled her, touched her, just as if it was their first time together. He's no longer the leader of a biker gang, and she hasn't been the reckless rebel for years, but they're still discovering each other, and still enjoying the process of discovery.

In the after-glow, when he's just content to spoon her, she tells him about herself, about her day, about the crazy clients that she met and their crazy demands. Her lips, those luscious lips capable of the most explicit dirty talk that he's ever been privileged to hear, whisper to him in the darkness about her dreams of their future together, of him being an artist and her taking over the agency from her dad.

When they finally fall asleep, he knows that she will be right next to him, head pillowed against his chest, her hair tickling his nostrils as he breathes in her heady scent, the smell that is all her, sweet and spicy, a little girlish with a tinge of vampire-like sexiness.

Some time later, he wakes wild-eyed, the nightmare that he's just had about Felix still fresh in his mind. Her touch is soothing, comforting him as he tries to banish the memories, tracing patterns on his back as he tries to forget all the evil that he has seen in his youth, wiping away the tears as he mourns for the loss of his innocence, torn away when he still too young.

She makes him dream of sunrises and sunsets, of a brilliant riot of colour greeting him in the morning and kissing him goodnight, of breathtaking beauty to be found in everyday life, if you only look for it. Even in his dream and dressed in a simple pair of jeans, her beauty far surpasses that of the sunrise or sunset. He doesn't really remember what the dreams are about, just the splashes of red, orange and gold; and a deep, deep green as he remembers her eyes.

He loves her eyes; often getting lost in them as he learns of her past, of her struggle to not bury the old Veronica Mars but rather learn from her, and look back fondly at the girl she was then. She's taught him not to be ashamed of who he was then, of accepting the person he is now, and saying hello to the person that he will be in the future.

He really is a different person now, and that's all thanks to her. She makes him want things that he once thought he would never wish for. She makes him want it all, the suburban house, the white picket fences, the two kids and even a dog, a pit bull named Back-Up, of course. It's no longer sex to him, but making love, because that is really what he is doing, _making love_ to her. It's more than just sex, than penetration or the deep carnal hunger, though that is fun too.

When they're together, when it happens, it's a sort of vindication that all this, all the fights, the struggles, the tears, that it's all worth it. She laughs when he tries to explain it to her, and tells him that he's a big softie, that she knew that underneath that tough exterior was a deeply romantic man. But she doesn't mean the jest, for one look into her eyes and he knows that she feels it too.

Sometimes it scares him just how much he loves her, this girl whom he has watched grow into the beautiful woman that she is now. She's an interesting mix of girl and woman, his Veronica, all demure glances when they're out with their friends, but a tigress in bed when she pounces, quite literally, on him. He calls her 'his' not as a sign of possessiveness, but rather simply because that is just the way it is. She is his just as much as he is hers. He's honoured that of all the guys, he is the one that she's chosen to let into her life.

And tonight, she's given him another thing to feel honoured of.

She's agreed to marry him.


End file.
